


Hold your breath

by Breanna_B



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s03e11 The Return Part 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1833232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breanna_B/pseuds/Breanna_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team are trapped in the jumper in the water-filled jumper bay. O'Neill comes to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold your breath

**Author's Note:**

> My first posted fanfic (be nice to me, but all comments welcome!). What I think should have happened when O'Neill went swimming.

 

_In the jumper:_

 

It had sounded right, the groan and clunk of heavy machinery, tempered with that ears-under-the-water woosh of moving water. Relief had blossomed in the cramped and damp breathing space within the jumper. Shortlived, though, as the team realised the sounds had stopped, yet the view through the windshield showed the jumper bay filled with water as before.

Rodney shouted through the communications device, anxiety in his voice as he reached out to discover what had happened, what had gone wrong. O'Neill's voice coming clear through the system relieved some of their fears, and Rodney sounded more incredulous than worried.

Then O'Neill's words cut through McKay's normal bluster.

"Its a dead man's switch".

There was silence in the cabin, a communal indrawn breath as they realised what O'Neill would have to do to get them out of there.

None of them asked.

Woolsey's voice crept into the silence. "He's gone to try again."

 

* * *

 

_O'Neill:_

 

Now he knew where the lever was, O'Neill swam straight for it, no hesitation, no time to lose. His eyes felt dry as he anxiously oriented himself, looking through the blurry water to pinpoint the console and get there as fast as possible. How can you get dry eyes when you're encased in water? The thought crossed his mind as his hand reached the lever and he pulled down with all his might. He struggled momentarily against the bouyancy of the air in his lungs, but grabbed the console and wedged his legs under the overhanging work station as well as he could.

He could hear the far off rumble of working machinery, the sound clanging and boinging against his water filled eardrums. He struggled against the first pangs of the desire to breath. _Don't do it_. He fought against his body's request to just open his mouth, expel the increasingly toxic air from his lungs and gulp in fresh new air.

His mind wandered as he held the lever down, the jumper bay still half full of water: the sound of pipes gurgling as he lay in the bath as a child, head underwater; swimming in the creek as a teenager, the water barely warmed by the early summer sun; the breathlessness caused by cracked ribs in the freezer of Antartica. His body started to betray him as bubbles of air erupted from his nose and mouth.

 _Is help coming soon?_ He remembered coughing up blood, the red gleam of it against blue-white ice. His vision returned to the scene in front of him, blue and green hues, but no red. He was back to his senses here and now. He **was** the help. _Hold on, a bit longer_.

The jumper bay seemed almost empty of water now, but it was so huge that still meant it was well up the sides of the few vehicles he could make out inside, domed tops protruding through the surface of the water.

His chest was burning now, his diaphragm almost spasming against the orders of his mind not to breathe. _How much longer, how long to go? How long can I keep this up?_

And then it was done.

 

* * *

 

_Woolsey:_

 

Woolsey looked with concern at the square puddle of water. _How long has he been under there? Surely longer than his other trips. Too long perhaps. Did he finish it, did he get the job done? Or has he drowned, before the jumper bay was cleared?_ He realised just how much the members of the SG teams were willing to sacrifice for this project, to get the job done. For them it wasn't just an exercise on paper, a problem where the answer was worked out based on logic and efficiency. He knew that O'Neill had gone into that water not just for the people of Earth, but for those six souls on that jumper. Yes, by rescuing them the plan to stop the replicators was much more likely to work, could not work without them, but he could tell that the immediacy of O'Neill's actions in some ways related to his desire to save his colleagues, kindred spirits through their off-world gate travel that he, Woolsey, knew he could never be part of.

The water level at the access ladder rippled and suddenly he was there, drenched hair running rivulets unchecked down O'Neill's face as he clung to the railings, gasping for air, eyes bloodshot, chest heaving. Woolsey realised he was panting too, unaware of how long he'd been holding his breath in sympathy.

The human-form replicator standing closest to the hatch reached down and grabbed O'Neill's upper arms and hauled him out of the water with in-human strength, and unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor, almost throwing him down. O'Neill lay for a moment, clutching his chest before rolling onto hands and knees and retching, clear watery liquid spewing onto the floor, before collapsing sideways into a slumped lying position.

One of the replicators told the two men to get up, gesturing for them to start moving out. When O'Neill didn't respond, the nearest figure hooked the toe of its boot under his torso and flipped him over. Woolsey realised that the replicators must be stronger than a human of the same build as O'Neill was tossed across the room, stopping when he banged up against the steps and railings at the far side.

"Hey wait, stop a moment", he called out as the inhuman forms approched the prone O'Neill. The replicators ignored Woolsey's supplications, but O'Neill was on his knees now, holding out placating hands as he struggled to his feet. The replicators backed off, patient enough to let O'Neill struggle on his own to stand and do their bidding.

Only when they were thrown in the ancient cell could Woolsey turn to examine O'Neill. Jack brushed off the other man's concern, "I'm okay" he muttered before turning to assess their situation. Woolsey watched as O'Neill circled the cell, saw that the gash on his head, gained when he hit the sharp corner of the steps, had bled only a little and was drying up nicely. He was more concerned with the stiffness in the way O'Neill stood, holding his body carefully as if to protect cracked ribs. Suddenly Woolsey felt shocked at the injuries he could see on this man. In recent years he had been more exposed to the dangers that gate travel seemed to bring, but such injuries had always been the province of younger gate team members, not a General.

O'Neill, having finished his recon of their cell, came to sit down on the bench next to Woolsey. He sighed, then lowered himself further onto the floor, allowing himself to lean back against the bench. As if to echo what Woolsey had been thinking O'Neill said, "I'm getting too old for this." A pause and shake of his head, "You do know I was going to retire. Several times!"

Woolsey had nothing to say to that. They sat in silence briefly.

"Did you drain all the water from the jumper bay?" he asked finally, realising that he didn't even know if O'Neill had been successful.

"Yep." O'Neill replied. "Its up to them now."


End file.
